


Moonlighting

by CMDAK



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, curious James Bond, sneaky Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:10:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7253779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMDAK/pseuds/CMDAK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the very unwanted advice of a psychiatrist, Q gets a hobby (acting) that turns into a second job which he loves as much as his initial one. The side effect is that he's much more tired and of course James notices that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlighting

Being a Quartermaster was very tiresome, of that James had no doubt. And yet, he couldn’t help but think that his current Quartermaster – a genius, young man who could have the world at his feet without trying too hard if he really wanted – looked too tired. The bags under his eyes were too big, he was taking just a tad too long when he was supposed to come up with a witty retort, and James had even walked in on him being asleep over his desk in the same colourful suit he had the day before when his shift was just starting.

 

“I forgot to drink my tea,” Q mumbled his lie half-heartedly, too busy rubbing the sleep from his eyes to notice that James was silently counting the empty mugs of tea that littered his desk. “And that is also why you will have to give me a second to see where your next mission is, just so I know what set of gadgets you’ll destroy.”

 

“M sent me to make sure that you aren’t running any missions and escort you to the hotel where your meeting is to take place,” James explained slowly, taking note that Q actually needed a few moments to process what he was saying.

 

“Ah, right, the meeting,” Q muttered after a second, fighting hard not to yawn. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

 

While Q dozed off during the meeting – then again, so did the MI5 Quartermaster and about at least five other people and James swore that everyone else that wasn’t talking was playing on their cell phones under the table – James busied himself with checking on his past schedule, nothing that he hadn’t been forced to do overtime since Spectre lost its leader.

 

Okay, then maybe he must be working overtime on some really important gadget, James assumed but R was quick to set that record straight for him. “The Quartermaster clocks out at five in the evening sharp by closing his terminal even if he doesn’t leave for home straight away and no, he doesn’t go down to his lab to work on anything,” the woman added before James could even suggest it.

 

“Then why is he so tired?” That question got R’s full attention and she finally stopped playing on her phone – or actually working, if the long rows of nonsensical numbers, symbols, and letters were anything to go by – and looked at the agent with confusion. “You can’t tell me that you didn’t notice this until now.”

 

“I did, but...” She trailed off, worrying her lower lip. “Let me check his medical records really quick.”

 

The second her fingers touched the keyboard, she got the blue screen of doom and James felt a cold shiver run down his spine. “While I have no higher expectations of 007 by this point,” Q’s annoyed voice came from behind them and R actually yelped, “and I do understand that it is in a spy’s nature to know every detail about everyone around him, especially the people he is supposed to trust fully,” James bit his tongue not to interrupt him and correct him, “I do expect you to respect my privacy as I do yours.”

 

“Quartermaster,” James started, but Q shook his head and wiggled his finger at him.

 

“Don’t you even try to talk your way out of this, 007,” the tired younger man warned the agent, pointing towards the door. “I have no meeting and you have no missions, so go waste someone else’s time.”

 

If Q was rested and not in an actual foul mood, James would have teased him until the man caved in and told him out of his own free will why he was so tired and even went as far as to offer his medical files to him on a silver platter just to get him out of his hair. But Q swayed a little and almost grabbed R’s desk to steady himself, an action that sent off all the alarms in everyone’s head and because James was the closest to him, he picked him up in his arms and rushed him to Medical before he was even aware of what was happening.

 

“Quartermaster,” the doctor said in a voice that could be easily confused for a growl and James had second thoughts about leaving the skinny man there. “What did you say the last time you ended up here like this?”

 

Groaning, Q turned to look at James. “I will give you two Aston Martins if you get me out of here this instant.”  
  
James thought for a moment, the doctor getting ready to hit the panic button and put his whole department in a lock down. “Tempting, but no,” the agent said eventually and the doctor visibly relaxed, one of the nurses even dropping her stun gun. “However, I might be inclined to do what you just asked me,” he just loved the shocked gasps and Q’s eye roll because Q knew that the agent was just bullshitting and not meaning a single word that were passing his lips, “if you tell me why you’re so tired all the time.”

 

The Quartermaster grabbed the doctor’s arm and tugged him towards the medicine cabinet. “I will take the usual plus two hours of sleep and the no agent time now, if you don’t mind.”

 

And he was the one who was supposed to grow up, James wondered as he shook his head. If only the Major was there to see just how childish his spotted prodigy was acting, he would surely apologize to him for all the times he insulted him and presented him with a lollypop. “I am going to find out what’s causing those bags under your eyes, Q. I am a spy, you know.”

 

Q gasped, clutching at his chest after the doctor was done connecting him to an I.V – a bloody I.V! James should drag Tanner down here and show him Q and force him to force his stubborn nephew to come clean and put a stop to whatever he was doing because that skinny, marble white hand was not made to be pierced by anything, even if it was by something that was feeding him vitamins. “You? A spy? Why, Mister Bond, this is the first time I hear of this,” Q joked and laid in the bed, the nurse pulling the covers under his neck as he started to shiver. “And here was me thinking that you were part of the demolition department.”  

 

James took a deep breath, but before he could retort, the doctor started pushing him out of the room. “007, I am sure you have better things to do than to aggravate my patient who needs all the rest he can get.”

 

The doctor actually had a point and James was quick to sneak back in Q’s department, trying his best not to look suspicious – even though every boffin had stopped doing whatever they were working on to glare at him until he entered Q’s office.

 

He spent roughly two hours poking his nose in every cabinet and every box he could find, making mental notes of all the awesome gadgets Q was keeping for him. He found some makeup – not the normal kind, mind you, but the type James grabbed when he had to look like someone else – and some strange article of clothing – not kinky strange, but the thoughts were already in his head and James really wished he could check Q’s browser history just to make sure – but before it crossed his mind to actually start digging around on Q’s desk, he heard the man’s deep voice right outside the door so he had no choice but to duck behind some boxes.

 

“Well, just check the cameras and be sure he’s really gone,” Q was saying, grabbing a duffle bag from under his desk, proceeding to shove the makeup in it and a thick stack of papers which James couldn’t believe he had missed. “And send the bloody idiot home; I know he’s bored, but unlike him, even though Blofeld is no longer in charge of most of the underworld, I still have a job to do.” He looked around and narrowed his eyes, James holding his breath. “Or two, actually.”

 

James waited until R entered the office to let him know that the coast was clear and honestly thanked her on his way out – he also asked her upfront what she wanted as a gift, as he really did not have the time nor the energy to spare on this. “No offence,” he added quickly and she chuckled.

 

“Don’t worry; none taken, Mister Bond. I know the Quartermaster is of more importance to you.” The way she said it, voice sweet and almost hypnotic, eyes narrowed ad full of mischief and something that seemed to say she knew something he didn’t, made James take a careful step back and narrow his eyes. “We’ll help you as much as we can in this little unofficial mission of yours, but be warned that we’ll act like we didn’t even know who you are if Q catches you snooping around in his personal life.”

 

While Q knew how to work with a team a lot better than any of the field agents and even than some boffins – understandable for the agents as they were paranoid about being betrayed by anyone and everyone in the blink of an eye and not quite normal for the boffins because they should see beyond the Quartermaster chair – and was inclined to turn a blind eye every now and then at certain things, he turned into an outright monster whenever his privacy was disrespected.

 

And the memory of what had happened to 004, who had tried to steal his wallet to find out his real name in order to win the still ongoing betting pool, was still fresh in everyone’s minds and James almost shivered when he thought about the hard punishment the poor man got – five months cleaning bedpans and being pretty much a slave in a fancy home for the elders and his fee cut in half, plus two more months being the unofficial errand boy for the Quartermaster while at work.

 

No boffin spoke of what had happened to the one from their ranks who had tried to aid 004 in his foolish mission, though you could still hear the traumatized man whimper whenever his eyes landed on a wallet and outright scream when he heard the ‘pop-up add’.

 

“I assure you that he won’t catch me,” James said and offered the woman his best reassuring smile. “And if he does, I will suddenly be stuck by a nasty case of amnesia when it comes to those who had offered me their help,” he promised and offered R his hand, the woman hesitating for a second before shaking it.

 

With his technological back covered, James set about waiting for his best friend and partner in stupidity and explosions – M’s and Q’s words, not his – to come back from his vacation so his unofficial mission could start properly.

 

One week later, Alec rolled his eyes when James was done talking and opened the expensive bottle of whiskey that had been offered to him as a bribe – a useless action, as Alec cared for Q almost as much as James did, and he would have accepted to help his companion without hesitation. “How is it that you still manage to find things to do when there is nothing to do?” He asked and James shrugged. “Are you sure you’re not just imagining things?”

 

“He’s not,” Eve answered before James could and easily grabbed the bottle from and unsuspecting Alec, ignoring the way he glared at her. She too had noticed that Q was way too tired for the way things currently were and she was quick to accept to team up with James, stating that she felt like Q was keeping something from her – and that hurt her on a level, because she saw herself as the younger man’s older sister and she did her best to help him and protect him. “I would also like to mention that yesterday Q had a few bruises on his arms and I think he forgot to take all of his makeup off. That or he put it intentionally to cover more bruises.”

 

James narrowed his eyes and Alec sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he counted back from ten to calm himself down and clear his mind of things that couldn’t be true because they were spies, damn it, and they would have noticed if something like that was happening to their Quartermaster. “We mustn’t think of—”

 

“Then we shan’t even dare to word out such foolish thoughts,” James growled, squeezing his glass so hard that it cracked.

 

“As such, we will move on,” Alec continued, sharing a look with Eve that had the woman nod and James get intrigued and curious, “and conclude that there is nothing else left for us to do but to continuing to ignore Q’s wish to leave him the fuck alone no matter how worried we might be,” he glanced at James just to be sure his friend was still on the same page as him.

 

“I still say we should wait for 009 to come back from his mission and let him do the spying part because, no offence, you two are horrible at the covert part of them,” Eve said suddenly, clearly not knowing what offending people meant. “You’re going to end up stressing him even more than he already is and I am sure that you won’t find out anything even remotely important.”

 

This ended up being an unwanted distraction as Alec and Eve started to argue about why 009 was considered such a good agent – “Because he doesn’t blow up buildings when they’re supposed to simply pick up a bloody chip, 006, and don’t get me started on the amount of money he manages to save Q’s branch by bringing back all of his equipment in perfect condition” – which eventually led to James having to act like the mature one – something that might have given the good old Major a heart attack – and separate the two.

 

“Q’s health first, 009’s shady ability to bring back everything – including himself – in one piece from missions later,” James growled and glared at the two until they were back in their respective chairs.

 

***

 

Q did not regret becoming the Quartermaster. He loved what he did and he loved the sort of freedom that came with the title as he was allowed to build things on MI6 money that normally he would have only afford to put on a piece of paper which he would then stick in a box and then try to forget about it.

 

However, his huge luck did mean that he wasn’t really allowed to have any other hobbies or even an actual personal life. The huge number of two lovers he managed to get since becoming a Quartermaster had been scared away by the late hours he kept and the army of unfriendly and downright scary people that tended to find their way in Q’s apartment and accepted the way out the young man offered them without a second thought.

 

Good riddance, Q thought as he threw himself in his work and hugged his cat tighter – the only creature that snuggled close to him after hard missions that had him on the verge of tears without trying to start a screaming match or accusing him that he was cheating. But the MI6 psychiatrist wasn’t too happy about that and pushed for him to find himself a hobby, something which took his mind off of his job.

 

A hobby which Q eventually found, but which left him even more exhausted than he already was and which had the added bonus of the Medical team breathing down his neck on top of his psychiatrist.

 

 “Quartermaster, can you look me in the eye and say that you feel rested after doing that on top of your job?” Q could say with an easy heart that he now understood why all the agents – with 007 in front – did their best to avoid the psychiatrist. The bloody man couldn’t be satisfied with anything their patients did or chose.

 

“Yes,” Q said easily, failing in stopping himself from yawning and earning himself a hard glare – were they even allowed to look at their patients in such a judgemental way? “Well, not physically, but mentally,” he added after a moment, fidgeting in his chair.

 

The psychiatrist sighed and his eyes became warmer, allowing Q to see the worry in them. “I am not going to tell you to stop if you feel like that, but I will plead with you to do so when you feel that your body can’t take the strain anymore. Being the Quartermaster _and_ an actor, even if you have minor roles in plays can’t be easy.”

 

Of course the man was right and Q didn’t plan on telling him anytime soon that because he had never felt more free of the sword that constantly loomed above the heads of each and every one of his agents, dangling on a digital string of numbers and codes that was so thin, it could fall and kill them at his smallest mistake.

 

When he acted, he wasn’t Q anymore – not that he wanted that to be something permanent – and he just loved the way the world twisted and turned around him until it gave way into the one that the creators of the play had in their mind. He felt like he was floating whenever he was on the stage, felt his heart swell up in his chest and beat faster, the same way it did when he was behind his computer. In truth, the only difference between when he was Quartermaster and when he acted was that he wasn’t afraid of making a mistake because no one’s life depended on him remembering his line properly.

 

Coincidentally, he was so good with memorising his lines which, when combined with the fact that he actually learned from the other agents how to act, he was seen as a prodigy and the director kept on giving him bigger roles in his plays. He was advancing through the ranks so fast that some of his co-stars looked at him with a hint of jealousy and respect, actors who had acted more years than he had walking up to him and encouraging him to keep acting.  

 

Flattered and tempted as he was to pick the easier life, he could not and would not turn his back on the people that depended on  him, especially since he was sure that he would feel hollow on the inside if he was no longer the Quartermaster. So he made it clear to the director that he couldn’t really be placed in any important plays because of his main job, managing to avoid telling the man what he actually did for a living. Not really dangerous for himself, Q had said when he saw the flash of fear in the old man’s eyes, but dangerous enough to cause a lot of trouble for the country if he wasn’t in his office when his work phone rang.

 

Somehow that translated into ‘I work for the mob, so fear and respect me’, and although it amused Q to no end, he failed to see the logical way that conclusion was reached no matter how he twisted and turned his words in his mind. He was also curious as to what role in this non-existent mob the man had attached to him, given that although he had muscles, he wasn’t strong enough to be the type of man you sent to scare people into paying off or keeping their mouths shut, and although he built weapons, his aim was lousy – then again, he was almost blind without his so called hipster glasses.

 

Yet the director kept on using him and praised him, amazed at his ability to remember the text after reading it twice. “Not many can do that,” the man had said after Q had been forced by a most unfortunate even in which an actor that was supposed to play a secondary character which had rather complicated lines – he represented the physical manifestation of a jabberwocky that plagued the tragic hero’s mind and that followed him into his eventual demise – that usually took men more than two days to recite without screwing them up had taken ill. “Are you sure that you don’t have a photogenic memory?”

 

Q laughed and clinked champagne glasses with an already tipsy co-star that staggered passed them. “I do retain things faster than other people, but I have not been blessed or cursed with that type of memory. In all honesty, we got lucky that the only thing my character had to do was keep to the star’s right and jump from one foot to another whenever he had a line. I suggest you actually get an understudy for the important characters the next time.”

 

The director nodded and squeezed Q’s shoulder. “I will make sure that the understudy doesn’t eat from the same restaurant as the actor he’s backing up.”

 

Q made a mental note to only eat the food he brought from home or order from his usual restaurants, not because he was paranoid about the other actors, but because he really didn’t want a combined team of MI5 and MI6 agents to take the theatre by assault and arrest everyone under the suspicion of acts of treason until it was proven that someone was really cheap when it came to the catering.

 

After that incident, Q found himself with a role in all the plays that were presented in that theatre. It was flattering and Q found himself loving the stage more and more – but never more than his computers and saving his agents, even if most of the times, they were in shit because of their apparent inability of following simple instructions.

 

It wasn’t strange for Q to guide the agents out of harm’s way while he was in his office, practicing the moves his character was supposed to make, or sneak a peek at scripts between lines of code and mathematical equations which were supposed to permit a car to have rocket launchers right next to the gas tank without causing it to explode. But if it was an important mission, his attention was on it one hundred percent.

 

That was the reason why M turned a blind eye to  his moonlighting – of course he would have informed the man of his second job, even giving him two tickets for himself and his wife for the plays in which his role went beyond a total of ten minutes as per the boss’ request – and even indirectly encouraged it.

 

But the two jobs started to take their toll on him and people started to notice how tired he was and how deep the bags under his eyes were, no matter how much makeup he was using. And while his beloved minions were satisfied with making his tea stronger or slipping all sorts of little notes with tricks on how to relax or get to sleep sooner, the agent’s were a whole other story.

 

Most of them lingered around him even after he was done briefing them, watching him carefully and ready to grab him and steady him should he start to collapse. They also tended to bring back all sort of herbal remedies for insomnia and did their best to be more careful during their missions, just in case that was the reason why he was so tired – he did lose some nights to worthless thoughts of worry over their possible future deaths that simply refused to leave him, so why tell them the truth?

 

Eve was another story. A very good secretary and a former field agent, those two jobs combining and turning her into an ultimate super-spy because she knew something was off since the second he managed to get hired at the theatre company. It was as if she sensed a disturbance in a force – a joke she did not really like when Q said it, because he talked like Yoda and she insisted that she wasn’t an old, green hand-puppet that lived in a swamp.

 

“Then allow me to compare you with Cinderella,” Q said slowly, barely managing to keep a straight face when she saw how confused and curious Eve was, “for if the shoe fits...” He trailed off and bolted – in a distinguished manner, mind you – out of her office before the woman could strangle him.

 

“I know you are up to something, Quartermaster,” she called after him, eyes narrowed. “And if I find out that you’re being reckless like Bond, I will convince M to force you on a bloody downtime,” she finished her warning and Q was tempted to let her find out, just because he had a pretty huge role in an upcoming play and he had ran out of days off thanks to the upper mentioned agent.

 

He wouldn’t, of course, because Eve would start worry about his wellbeing and his energy reserve and Q did not want to stress her even more. So he kept on being sneaky, altering the security system in his office and around his apartment to know when she was making her way to him.   

 

And then there was James Bond. The agent that was the root of all of his nightmares when he had a fever and the man that caused his heart to hurt or skip a literal beat whenever he got killed during a mission – something that by then had surely become a sick hobby for James. The man that noticed things he wasn’t supposed to notice even when he wasn’t on duty and the only one that outright declared his worry for Q’s health.

 

Q was afraid of him the most. Well, not afraid of him in the sense that he thought the man was going to hurt him or kill him, but in the sense that M unofficially trusted his words and if James Bond declared that Q was much too weak to continue what he was doing, he was sure to lose his position as the Quartermaster.

 

He was also afraid that the man would mock him for his hobby, declare him unfit to be even the person that cleans the theatre after everyone had left. It wasn’t that James was a cruel person; in fact, James was the kindest person Q knew, even though it was on a subconscious level. The agent truly cared for each and every person he interacted with on the field and did his honest best to save them from the dark world they had slipped in as well as their own bad choices. But he couldn’t help but think the man would do that, something that he was sure was brought on about by the fact that he had a bloody crush on him and he sought to only be seen as the best at everything even if he was not the Bond’s type.

 

His heart jumped in his throat when he realized that Bond noticed. He forced himself to play it cool and act like he wasn’t panicking, expertly blocking the agent’s every attempt at finding his little secret while also trying to convince him – and himself – that the only reason he acted worried was because he was bored.

 

But it was clear it wasn’t because he was bored. Even when Q convinced M to give the man an obvious honey pot mission which involved one of his favourite off again, on again flings, Bond didn’t stop his pestering.

 

“You’re too tired to be running this mission,” was the first thing Bond said when he strolled into his branch, easily picking up the boffin that was supposed to equip him, placing him on a chair before stopping in front of Q. “In fact, you’re too tired to be wasting precious sleeping time making sure that junior over there,” he pointed towards the now mortified boffin who was shaking as he was muttering his speech to no one, “is a good delivery boy.”

 

Imagine taking a deep breath, force your heart to slow down, and ignore the fact that Bond is so close to you that you can smell his aftershave, Q told himself. “007—”

 

Bond held up his hand as he called someone and Q was too shocked at the blatant show of disrespect not to swallow his words. “You know you drive me crazy when you do that thing with your tongue and your fingers,” the man was saying and silence fell over the branch as everyone edged closer to hear better, “but would you terribly mind if I pass you along to my Quartermaster?”

 

“I beg your pardon?” Q screeched and rushed to grab the phone from Bond, only to end up mashed against his chest, a finger expertly placed just about the spot on his ribs that was incredibly ticklish.

 

“He just thought the same thing, but no,” Bond continued to say in a dry voice and Q head the woman click her tongue in disappointment. “I meant let you talk to him on the phone and not in person because I know you have your eyes on him and you are not his type at all.”

 

Before he realized what was happening, Q was sitting down on his sofa with Bond holding his phone to his ear while the woman he was supposed to bed for information was spilling the beans without a second thought – she also slipped in an invitation to dinner, but before Q could awkwardly and politely turn her down without mentioning that he was afraid he’d end up kidnapped or killed, James threw his phone against the wall, narrowly avoiding hitting Alec in the head.

 

“Now that your mission is done, or at least I think it is,” Q said slowly, feeling his migraine becoming stronger, “you have more than enough time to go to anger management classes because was that really necessary?”

 

“You know how a double oh agent is when someone walks in unexpectedly in the room that his favourite Quartermaster is,” Alec defended his friend, winking at them. “And since we are on the subject, Quartermaster, you look like crap.” He got really close to him and poked his cheek, narrowing his eyes when he realized that he had foundation on his finger.

 

Q moved away as fast as he could, jumping behind his desk, wondering how the hell did those two subjects were connected. “Oh no, my dreams of participating in a beauty contest are ruined,” Q said drily, pulling out a beat-up laptop. “Since 007 is done showing me how he ruins all of the gadgets I give him—”

 

“On the rare occasions that I do use the gadgets that don’t explode like this, I always hit my attacker right between the eyes,” Bond interrupted him, arranging his shirt and tie. “But fear not, that was my personal phone, so I did not cause any damage to your budget. In fact, with that simple phone call, I must have saved you a fortune.”

 

That he did, but he also caused Q a few problems because he didn’t know how he was supposed to approach the information he had been given or how to file the mission. Was it complete? Was he supposed to inform M that 007 had exposed himself? The woman already knew what Bond was and she was unofficially an MI6 mole on KGB’s payroll, but the two had only exchanged information on the field. Still, the two were friends with benefits and Q had heard a few of the higher-ups discussing the possibility of officially bringing the woman over. Then again, would she really be useful if...

 

He shook his head, deciding to send M a quick message about everything, just to have all the bases covered. “You keep to that story, 007, and maybe one day I will fall for it. But until pigs learn how to fly, feel free to find your way out and let me do my job in peace.”

 

“You got the information he wanted,” Bond said too close to his ear and stopped his typing, “so I think it would be for the best to let R do whatever it is that you’re starting to do and go home and get some rest. Maybe you’ll manage to participate in that beauty pageant if you sleep for a week without setting foot in here or anywhere else that might make you even more tired than you already are.”

 

“Or,” Alec intervened, draping Q’s jacket over his shoulders and grabbing the duffle bag which both he and Bond had been eyeing since the second they stepped into his office, “call in sick for a week or three months and let James here teach you how to be lazy and really not do anything when you’re no longer on duty.”

 

Q’s tired mind instantly conjured up imagines that were best to have when one was alone – or at all, given the circumstances – and he licked his lips, shifting his eyes to the smug looking agent which was enough to snap him out of his daze. “Great, now I have to deal with two very bored agents,” he grumbled and pushed Alec away, throwing his jacket over his head while also grabbing his duffle bag, throwing it under his desk. “I also understand that you two _think_ that my job is finished the second yours is, but it’s not.”

 

His new plan was to bore them to death or until they decided to find someone new to torment, so he started to explain what he was doing, using terms that weren’t friendly with people who had no idea what coding was and had only a bit of knowledge when it came to computers. That backfired because the two looked really interested in what he was saying, with Bond asking him what the terms meant while Alec searched on his phone.

 

In the end, it took Q twice as much to finish and he ended up falling asleep on the sofa while he was waiting for someone to bring him a mug of his favourite tea and for someone else to order him a car to go home. He thought he felt like he was floating and his senses were assaulted by Bond’s aftershave and when he woke up in his own home with all of his phones locked in the fridge and a note in Alec’s messy scribble that informed him that he had the next three days off due to the mission being completed so soon, he wanted for the ground to open and swallow him whole because it meant that Bond had carried him on his back and he thought that maybe he had nuzzled the back of the man’s neck by accident.

 

He checked to see if anything had been moved around his house, silently cussing the fact that he was dealing with spies because even if he teased them about not being subtle, they did know how to look around without disturbing things.

 

“Why didn’t I just stick to Anonymous? I swear it would have been easier running from them for the rest of my life than keep this secret,” he grumbled under his breath as he placed his cat where he usually sat and taking a step back to see if the room looked exactly the same as it had before he left for work – not that the furry creature collaborated, opting to climb up his leg and try to curl around his neck and resume his sleeping.

 

At least he thought things were undisturbed and after pushing his panic and embarrassment in the back of his mind, he called M to make sure that Alec wasn’t lying to him because of a false idea of doing him good.

 

“ _Trevelyan wrote the truth_ ,” M said without even bothering to greet Q when he picked up the phone. “ _Since there are only three missions being ran right now, all of which have just regular agents on very easy missions, you are free to spend the next three days however you want,”_ the man cleared his throat and the word ‘sleeping’ might have been slipped in this one-sided conversation.

 

Word which Q decided to pretend didn’t exist because he felt rested and he was already starting to feel bored. Not to mention that this was a blessing in disguise since he wouldn’t have to pull out of the production – the last dress rehearsal was in three hours and the play itself was that night and even thought the mission that had been dumped on Bond was nothing more than a booty call that was supposed to end in a different way of pillow talk, Q had been prepared to ditch the play in favour of making sure that the mission didn’t take a sudden turn for the worse.

 

On his way to the theatre, Q kept feeling like he was being watched. He wasn’t sure if he was just being paranoid and overly careful because he had to deal with a bored Bond _and_ Trevelyan or if his instincts where right, cussing when he remembered that he had forgotten to re-chip the two pests. Still, just to be sure, he kept switching subways and cars, taking about three hours to reach the theatre.

 

“I was just about to have your understudy step in for you,” the director said when he saw him enter the backstage, laughing and patting his back. “He’s a good actor, but I am glad that I won’t have to do that.”

 

The rehearsals were perfect, the play was a huge success – well, according to the director, but Q was going to wait for the reviews to believe that – and the only strange thing that happened was that he found a bouquet of flowers waiting for him in the changing room he shared with most of the play’s cast.

 

“Oh, our young Boothroyd has a secret admirer already,” someone shouted and everyone went to pat his back and smell his flowers, pocking around them to see if there was a note attached to them that said something more than just the name of the character he played.

 

“Must be one of the many girls that wait for him outside for hours on end after a show,” someone else added after a few seconds and elbowed him, winking at him. “You lucky dog, if you didn’t sneak out, you would have a different one warming your bed every night.”

 

Q cringed and offered an obvious fake smile. It wasn’t that he wasn’t the type to enjoy groupies – even though he really wasn’t, but he didn’t hold it against anyone that indulged in this due to his interactions with spies – but women weren’t exactly his thing. He liked them as friends, but preferred only men in his bed, specifically blond, blue-eyed agents who were like five year olds in ADD in a candy shop when it came to partners.

 

“The handwriting belongs to a man,” he said after glancing at the note again. He panicked then, but a few more seconds in which he dug deeply in his mind for a writing sample from either Bond and Trevelyan – something that almost gave him a headache as the two men hated writing reports as much as they hated Medical – he calmed down and smile, allowing himself to enjoy the first gift of his first maybe-devoted fan. “The flowers are freshly cut , so it means that my would-be admirer has a flower shop on speed-dial and in their pocket, the paper is from one of the notebooks we sent which means that they insisted on writing the name themselves, they used heavy pen that might have some gold parts in it and...” He trailed off when he realized that the room was uncharacteristically silent.

 

“Marcus better watch out because there’s a new Sherlock in town and he’s pulling off the spacing out part and the deducting one without actually trying,” the actor that was usually tasked with being his understudy said and Q turned just a shade redder than he already was from the heat. “Careful if you do get that role because Marcus will be your backup and that man cannot share fame even if his life depends on it.”

 

Q chuckled, pushing everyone out of his way so he could start take off his make-up. “Marcus can relax because I don’t want a main role. I was happy being talking bush number two or ‘soldier who announces things’.”

 

“Yes, but you managed to save the play when the king forgot his line, so you ended up getting more important roles,” the director’s voice cut through everyone’s laughter. “Mister Boothroyd, allow me to congratulate you on your—”

 

“No, I will not play a bigger role the next representation,” Q cut him off, eyes narrowed. “You know you cannot depend on me and I don’t want to cause you or anyone else any trouble when I inevitably run into a problem at work that will force me to spend the night.”

 

“Ah, but I promise I wasn’t going to try to get you to change your mind,” the man lied through his teeth, shoving his nose in the flowers. “However,” oh great, “now that you mention that,” he hadn’t, he really hadn’t, “and now just listen to this idea—”

 

“Horrible idea and I think I just broke my leg,” Q said drily, falling from the chair. “Woe unto me, the pain is unbearable,” he continued drily, looking bored as he flailed around like a fish on land.

 

The director eventually gave up – talking about it, that was, and Q was sure that he was going to find himself with an even bigger role the next play around despite him auditioning for the smallest one possible – and sneaked out through the front door to avoid having his picture taken or his eardrums exploded by the fans shouting for their favourite actor to come out.

 

 Whatever lingering fear he might have had about the two agents having found out about his little secret was put to rest on his first day back to work when he found James playing around with the gun he wasn’t quite done stabilizing yet and Alec was maybe two words away from helping R finding out if their laser was powerful enough to cut through meat and bones.

 

“Quartermaster, how do you manage to look like crap after a day off and not smell like an entire bar or at least have sex hair?” Scratch that, Alec was a breath away from finding out how much it would take Q to strangle him. “Also, can I take—?”

 

“No,” Q cut him off. “And no to you too, Bond,” he added as he took the gun away from the man. “Why must I constantly pry dangerous things that are not ready yet from your hands?”

 

James shrugged, already eyeing something else he wasn’t supposed to touch quite yet. “I am only trying to save you time by testing them for you.”

 

“Get out,” Q said tiredly and it was a strange day because the two agents did just what they were asked.

 

Actually, it ended up being a strange week because even though they still nagged him every now and then, they actually followed his instructions. He also kept getting flowers, sweets, and all sorts of teas at the theatre and the director ended up insisting he got a room for himself. Stranger still, the man also seemed to be constantly on the edge, always checking his phone after making a decision.

 

Which would have been sort of fine if that didn’t end with Q somehow getting the main role of a play that was sold out in less than two minutes. No, that stopped being strange all together and evolved into something being very, very, off. In fact, he was so on the edge that he started trying to do research into the people who bought the tickets – trying being the keyword as something always seemed to pop up just as he was starting to do that.

 

“R, could you step in my office for a moment? I need you to help me with something.” What good would it do him to keep his secret from someone who would nag him about overworking himself for a few hours until she eventually decided to do her best to make things easier for him without mocking him a single time if he was going to end up being kidnapped and tortured for weeks on end until they finally realized that he wasn’t going to betray MI6 and finally put him out of his misery.

 

“Yes, Quartermaster, how my I assist you?” She asked carefully, eyes narrowed.

 

“So, I have this hobby,” he started, fidgeting and rubbing the back of his neck, “not one that would require you to get HR or the police involved,” he added quickly when he realized how it might sound. “A normal hobby, I assure you. A second job, now that I think about it. Not that I work as a traitor or—”

 

“Quartermaster, you’re stuttering,” she pointed out, biting down on her lip to keep herself from laughing.

 

He should have really found himself another hobby. Why didn’t he try writing? Or maybe try collecting stamps? That would have been a lot safer and, now that he thought about it, he liked sleeping the day away. “Log story,” he said suddenly, shaking his head to get rid of his thoughts of regret, “I have a main role in a play tonight and it sold out in a few minutes—”

 

“Congratulations—”

 

“Thank you, but don’t interrupt me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, seriously thinking about devoting all of his free time and money to a time machine so he could go back and stop himself from either starting down this path or being tricked into accepting this role. “I don’t have time to check everyone out and I think this might be an ambush and—”

 

“Not to interrupt you yet again, sir, but I should I check every person who bought tickets so you can focus on learning your lines?” She interrupted Q’s rant, patting his back. “Or rehearse them since I think it would be very ill advised for you to start learning them now and if that was the case, then this is really an ambush because...” She trailed off when she saw Q’s glare. “I’ll go check out on your fans.”

 

“Thank you,” Q muttered, rubbing his temples. “I’d give you tickets to my show, but our possible enemies bought all of them.”

 

She patted his back again and chuckled. “No offence, but I am sure that you’re just imagining things.” The way she said it and the way she looked at him made Q even more suspicious of everything.

 

***

 

When their shadowing – or ‘stalking’, as Alec insisted on calling it – led them to a theatre, James’ brain shot down for a moment. He had mentally prepared himself to be led to one of those special clubs and braced himself to walk in and find Q picking the person who was to satisfy his needs for the night, but a theatre? Should they sneak in through the back?

 

“I suggest buying tickets like normal people,” Alec said as if the man had read his mind and pulled him in the right direction. “It also looks like no one won the bet because I said he’s working in a strip club, Eve said newborn baby, and R suggested an illegal fight club.” James arched his eyebrow and Alec shrugged, not even bothering to take his change. “I don’t know why she thought Q would have bruises and wear makeup if he’s suddenly a father.”

 

He was more interested that in R’s choice. “You really see our Quartermaster, the man who once struggled with a bottle of water for an entire day until he finally had enough and cut with a katana because he was too stubborn to ask anyone for help, participate in a fight club?”

 

After buying a notebook for whatever reason and shoving it in James’ arms, Alec clicked his tongue. “About that bottle...”

 

“Alec,” James growled in warning, cracking his knuckles.

 

“It was the 1st of April and I honestly thought that he would be less stubborn than you,” if anything, Q was even more stubborn than him unless the life of his agents were on the line, “so I might have used one of his own inventions against him.” James slapped him upside the head and a few people turned to glare at him and tut in disapproval.

 

They could, of course, all go to hell as far as James was concerned because Q. “So he can open a bottle of water as long as no one tampered, good for him.” The hall was pretty packed and the seats that Alec bought were crap, but that might not matter just in case Q was working on the visual and sound effects – ah good; his brain was working properly again. “That still doesn’t mean that he’d do well in a fight club.”

 

Alec snorted, rolling his eyes at whoever shushed him. “The play didn’t start yet, so I’ll do whatever I want until the bloody thing starts,” he snapped and the young woman huffed in disgust and shock at how she was addressed. “As for the flight club thing, James, you never saw our darling boffin without a shirt, did you? Or during hand-to-hand combat training? Because he may look skinny, but he isn’t and he’s also really light on his feet and lightning-fast with his punches and kicks.”

 

The lights were turned off and the play started almost instantly, but James didn’t have to wonder for too long what Alec meant because not ten minutes into the play and he was staring at an almost fully naked Q who was prancing around the stage after someone who might have been the main character – again, Q was almost naked on the stage, so James’ brain was blocking and deleting any unnecessary details such as Q being almost naked on the stage and Q not having anything else but his muscles and tight under—

 

“James, I can see that on my own, so you can stop repeating yourself,” Alec whispered in his ear, covering his mouth. “Say, can you get popcorn in here? Or maybe a beer? Or five? Because I feel as if I need at least ten to really get what’s going on,” he continued to grumble, shushing the person who shushed him back before shutting up.

 

The girl on his right, who presented herself as an avid fan of the mysterious young, and hot Mister Boothroyd – James was going to have to have a conversation with Q about what a real fake identity was – informed James that Q would probably only have a total of twenty minutes on stage as for some reason, he never got huge roles.

 

She went on to say that she was sure it was because everyone was jealous of his acting abilities and of how beautiful he was, but James knew that Q himself was the reason why his roles were so short – or rather, his job.

 

Careful not to disturb anyone, not to wake Alec up who was thankfully sleeping without snoring, and not to insult the actors, James snuck out to make a phone call. The flowers were delivered by the time the second act was done and throwing next to Q’s mirror way before everyone stepped out to bow at the end of the play.

 

He had been tempted to reveal himself to Q right then and there, but Alec presented him with one of his few and rare sensible ideas: why not keep being Q’s secret fan? Alec was sure that Q would stop acting if James showed up right then and there and even manage to feel insulted, sure in his strange mistrust of the man that every praising word and sentence that passed his lips was actually an insult.

 

“We can also make sure that he’s pampered,” Alec continued to whisper in his ear, not unlike a snake who was trying to convince him to take a bite of the forbidden fruit. “Get him a bigger room since I am assuming that he has a small one?”

 

“He’s sharing,” James grumbled, eyes narrowed and offended on Q’s part even though there was a huge chance that Q didn’t really care.

 

And the snake took that cue to continue planting the idea in James’s mind, something that the man more than welcomed. “We can also make sure that the director doesn’t force him into roles that are not worthy of him because, James, let’s face it: no matter how much you love seeing him almost naked, you know this play is a piece of shit that’s played here only because the director is afraid that he’ll lose his theatre.”

 

They started meddling after that, at first dropping hints in the form of envelopes that the catering had to be improved and then moved on to outright orders of moving Q in a better room with better everything, including air-conditioning and a mini-fridge – Alec suggesting to James that, maybe, they should also throw a bone or two to the rest of the cast lest they wanted Q to become an outcast.

 

James also managed to get a few investors who actually had a taste for decent plays interested in the crew which might have backfired on his because the director always checked with him before making a decision. The man also asked him a few times what roles he should give Q, which annoyed James to no end.

 

“Are you saying that he can’t act and that the only reason he would be in a huge role would be because someone had to pay you to give him that?” James asked in a low and cold voice, and the director gulped.

 

“ _No, I would never dare to insult Mister Boothroyd in such a way! He is a wonderful actor, but I thought that maybe you want to see him in a more—”_

 

“I want to see him in the roles he deserves and accepts,” James snapped.

 

“ _About him accepting roles, could you—”_

 

James threw the phone at the wall before a vein exploded in his brain. Still, Q started to get more prominent roles and getting more and more tired with each passing week, something that James did not really like but kept his mouth shut because he was divine on stage and looked as happy to do be there as when he was behind a computer.

 

But something else also happened then: everyone and their mothers if they had high enough clearance found out about Q’s hobby and the tickets disappeared instantly. And James didn’t know if he was annoyed with Eve, R, and Alec for accidentally letting that little detail slip during the unofficial meeting – at which he and Q weren’t invited.

 

Eve said that he was being greedy and Eve was right. “But ignoring that,” he added after the woman was done laughing until she was crying, “he will know that something is up if everyone starts to act different around him.”

 

“They won’t,” R said as she sat down at their table, motioning the waiter over. “We made it clear that they are not to do anything too much out of the norm.”

 

He narrowed his eyes, but kept his mouth shut because he knew everyone would gang up on him and he would just waste his breath anyone since it was too late to do anything. Well, maybe he could convince Q to build a time machine, although he suspected the man might already be trying to do that if the hidden blue police cookie jar was any indication of the kind of shows he liked.

 

He didn’t do that, not even in joke, as Q was becoming more and more stressed. And he found out why on the day of the play and he felt the vein in his head starting to pulsate again, bringing with it a headache.

 

“This is why I didn’t really want anyone else in MI6 to know about Q’s acting hobby,” James growled as he threw the fifth suit he tried on away. “How the bloody hell could a spy agency do something so obviously shady?”

 

Alec shrugged, sighing when James slapped his hand away from the bottle of Monet and Chandon Dom Perignon Charles and Diana. “What, they were all out of ‘Taste of Diamonds’?” He teased, earning a pair of shoes thrown at his head. “You could have missed me and hit the bottle.”

 

“I am an excellent shot,” he stopped for a moment and glared at the tie that refused to be the right shade that went perfectly with the suit he had on, “and your empty head is big enough that even a blind man could hit without trying and getting any tips.”

 

“I am going to ignore everything you say right now because you are stressed out by the fact that you don’t look as handsome as me,” Alec grumbled and got another pair of shoes and a full suit thrown at his head. “Why are you even bothering with that?” He snapped. “It’s not like he’s going to see you, so why run around like a future bride on the hunt for her wedding gown?”

 

“I want to give him that bottle myself tonight,” James said slowly, wondering if it was too late to get his tailor to make him a new suit because nothing looked worthy right now.

 

“Do you want to give him something else with it, such as your—”

 

“I promise you that those will be your last words if you finish that sentence,” James warned, glaring at Alec until the man slowly backed out of his apartment, barely holding back his laughter. “Bloody prick.”

 

The play was beautiful and Q was perfect in the role. He had that perfect air of royalty around him, mixed with the innocence of someone who was given the crown too early and that of a king that had no idea what was really going on around him because he was too blinded by the idea that those of blue blood reigned above all and came second only to God. And it wasn’t just his infatuated mind that made him see things like that; Alec agreed, the poor man even mixing up a scene from the play with someone overacting and mixing reality with fiction.

 

“Alec, calm down,” Eve hissed at him while R struggled to keep him from cussing and James to keep him in his seat. “It’s part of the play; no one is actually trying to hit him.”

 

It was a hard moment for them to watch and Alec stubbornly pulled out his phone, starting to play on it to block everything out while James flinched every time a piece of garbage connected to Q’s body and when it was time for his death, James found it unwatchable.

 

The actors bowed, the crowd clapped and cheered and James snuck into the backstage, nervously arranging his cufflinks and tie until the door finally opened and a still crying and dirty, almost naked Q walked in.

 

“You are truly great,” James said, wrapping a bathrobe around the shocked younger man. “A crown would really suit you and I am sure that you will not meet the same end as Richard. You are smarter, sneakier, and the army you have at your disposal is a lot more dangerous than a few hundred thousand soldiers with their little swords and pikes.”

 

He started wiping the makeup from Q’s face and with a flinch and a blink the Quartermaster-turned-King for a night was on the other side of the room, glaring daggers at him. “Let’s both be professional and keep this off the records. Turn a blind eye to my little hobby just like I pretend not to know where you disappear during a mission that goes tits up. And sadly, that is literally the summary of every one of your mission.”

 

James walked closer to Q, taking the bucket of champagne with him. “I was honest in my praise of you and your acting abilities. I was happy to finally see you in a play that’s worthy of your talents. The other ones were too over the top and your where wasted as an extra.”

 

“You...” He trailed off, eyes widening. “Oh no, don’t tell me you’re the reason why I got this room all of a sudden and why it was filled with flowers?” James winked and Q pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you also the reason why the director has been practically throwing so many main roles at my head despite me telling him time and time again that I don’t actually have time for them?”

 

“No,” James said quickly. “That happened because you’re that good—”

 

“Spare me and tell me what you want to keep that big mouth of yours shut,” Q snapped, entering the bathroom and turning on the shower. “Because flattery doesn’t work on me and I am sure that you want something.”

 

James felt hurt for the first time in forever; it was true that he tended to ask Q for things for really he shouldn’t have, but he would never blackmail the man into doing it. “Q, do you really think that low of me?”

 

A moment of silence and then Q poked his head through the door, water dripping from his brown curls. “You’re a confusing and infuriating man and I don’t know why you’re doing this.”

 

“For as smart and talented as you are when it comes to plays and computers, you can be quite daft when it comes to reading someone outside of the field.” He opened the bottle and poured Q a glass. “Shall we start the celebration of all of your talents and forced vacation from everything and everyone but me if you so wish it with a simple toast?”

 

Q hesitated for a moment before taking the offered glass. “I could throw it in your face.”

 

“It would be a real shame to waste it on my face,” James said without backing away and smirking. “Why not waste it in a more pleasurable way?”

 

Q drank the glass and slammed the door shut in his face. “Who else besides you and R knows about this? And don’t you even try to protect her because if she wasn’t in on this convoluted way of yours to ask someone out, she would have told me that you bought a ticket.”

 

“Alec and Eve and maybe everyone else from MI6,” he said quickly and closed his eyes with just a second before Q shot out of the bathroom.

 

“Excuse me?” He hissed.

 

“At first, it was just me, Alec, Eve and R—”

 

Q covered his mouth. “Which is enough for everyone else to find out about this, of course,” he grumbled and grabbed the bottle from James’ hand. “You know, just between you and me, it’s a bloody miracle that the world doesn’t know all of MI6’ secrets with you lot in it.” Something rustled and Q tapped his hand. “You can look now.”

 

James popped open an eye, grinning. “What an honour has been bestowed on me. Might my king also present me with a glass of champagne?”

 

“Just that and nothing else; for now, maybe.”    


End file.
